A Mighty Fortress (68 page)

“No, Wyllym. It doesn’t.” There might have been a glimmer of respect for Rayno’s calm demeanor in the backs of Clyntahn’s eyes. On the other hand, there might not have been, too. “So why don’t you address the point I
was
raising?”

“Very well, Your Grace.” Rayno bowed slightly. “We’ve had no success since my last report in locating the traitors’ families. They appear to have vanished from the face of the world.”

“I see.” Clyntahn seemed unsurprised by Rayno’s admission. He leaned back in his chair, gazing across his desk at the Adjutant General of the Order of Schueler, and folded his hands across his belly. “I imagine you’ve figured out that I’m not very happy about this, Wyllym,” he said with a thin, cold smile.

“Of course I’m aware of that, Your Grace. In fact, I would imagine I’m probably almost as unhappy about it as you are. Would you prefer that I promise you we’re making progress on finding them when, in fact, I know we’re not?”

Clyntahn’s eyes glittered for a moment, but then his nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply.

“No, I wouldn’t prefer that,” he acknowledged, and it was true.

One of the reasons he valued Rayno so highly was that the adjutant general wouldn’t lie in an effort to cover his own posterior . . . or failures. Clyntahn was certain there had been occasions upon which Rayno had “managed” news by refraining from bringing things to his attention at an inopportune moment. That was quite a different matter, however, from lying outright, and Clyntahn had encountered more than enough people who were stupid enough to do just that. They didn’t seem to consider the fact that, sooner or later, the Grand Inquisitor would discover the lie, at which point the consequences would be even worse.

He had additional reasons for valuing Rayno, though. Among them was the fact that the archbishop had amply demonstrated his own loyalty. More than that, Clyntahn knew Rayno was well aware he himself could never aspire to the Grand Inquisitor’s chair. He had too many enemies, and not enough leverage to overcome them, which meant his present position was as high as he could hope to go... and that he would certainly lose the one he had if Clyntahn fell from power or withdrew his support. Which meant Rayno had every reason to serve his superior with steadfast loyalty.

Besides, the adjutant general was extremely good at what he did. True, Samyl Wylsynn’s family had slipped through his fingers on the very doorstep of Zion, but that wasn’t Rayno’s fault. He’d had the woman and her brats under surveillance by no less than three of his most trusted Inquisitors . . . all of whom had
also
disappeared that same evening. Clyntahn had come to the conclusion that at least one of those Inquisitors must, in fact, have been a traitor. Preposterous though that might be, it was the only answer to Lysbet Wylsynn’s successful disappearance he could come up with, yet he had personally reviewed the records of all three of the missing men. If one of them
had
turned traitor, nothing anywhere in his file would have suggested that possibility in advance. Clyntahn certainly hadn’t seen anything which suggested to
him
that Rayno should have seen it coming, at any rate. And the adjutant general’s current failure to locate the families of no less than three vicars and two archbishops who
had
made it to Zion—families they
knew
were almost certainly somewhere under their very noses, even now—was extremely unusual. In fact, the Grand Inquisitor could think of only one other occasion in which Rayno had suffered a similar failure.

“So there’s been no progress at all?”

“None, I regret to say, Your Grace.” Rayno shook his head. “There’s been no communication between any of them since they disappeared, and our agents throughout the city haven’t turned up a single trace.” He paused a moment, then cocked his head. “We could always have Stantyn inquire about them.”

“No.” Clyntahn shook his own head instantly. “We might as well go ahead and ask them ourselves! For that matter, given the fact that we can’t find their families, we have to at least consider the possibility that they might slip through our fingers themselves if they thought we were about to pounce.”

Rayno nodded, although he wasn’t positive he agreed with his superior in this case. Nyklas Stantyn, the Archbishop of Hankey, was Clyntahn’s mole within the group of reform- minded vicars who called themselves “the Circle.” In fact, it was Stantyn who’d first revealed the Circle’s existence to the Grand Inquisitor. It seemed obvious to Rayno that the other members of the Circle—or its leadership, at least—must realize one of their number had betrayed them, although they obviously didn’t know who. Personally, Rayno was at least half-inclined to stake Stantyn out. There were a couple of members of the Circle—Hauwerd Wylsynn came to mind—who Rayno rather suspected would come out into the open to cut Stantyn’s throat. It wouldn’t save them in the end, but they’d probably take a certain satisfaction out of it anyway. And when they did, it would be conclusive proof of their own guilt which could be readily displayed for the remainder of the vicarate. It would be a bit hard on Stantyn, but his value would disappear anyway the moment the Circle was broken. In Rayno’s opinion, he’d be far more useful at that point as a martyr whose death would have underscored the Circle’s treason.

And if it didn’t underscore that treason, Stantyn would be no great loss, anyway.

As far as the renegades’ realizing Clyntahn was simply biding his time before having them arrested, Rayno was certain they must have already recognized what was coming. At least one vicar who’d been a member of the Circle for over ten years, according to Stantyn, had committed suicide the month before. Two more had perished in what looked like accidental deaths, although Rayno was confident appearances were deceiving.

No, all three of them killed themselves,
he thought again.
They decided that would be an easier end than the one
The Book of Schueler
lays down for heretics. And they probably decided it was the only way to keep the Inquisition from going after the remaining members of their families, as well
.

He didn’t know if they’d been right about that last point, or not. That would be Clyntahn’s decision, and while the Grand Inquisitor’s first inclination would undoubtedly be to make examples out of the traitors’ families, as well, he might choose not to. If he held his hand in that regard, it might encourage future enemies to take the same escape—remove themselves from the vicar’s path without putting him to the bother of having them removed. It would be interesting to see which approach Clyntahn chose in the end.

And for now,
Rayno thought dispassionately,
he’s enjoying the knowledge that the others
have
realized what’s coming. It’s not as if they could get far in the coldest month of a Zion winter even if they tried to run, and in the meantime, they have to see him every day and know what’s going to happen to them. And so does everyone else in the vicarate, whether they’re willing to admit it or not.

That was the real reason Clyntahn had waited so long, Rayno was certain. It wasn’t something the Grand Inquisitor was going to discuss in detail even with him, but Rayno hadn’t served Clyntahn so long and so well without realizing how the vicar thought.

Clyntahn had deliberately stoked the steadily growing fear within the vicarate, but not out of simple sadism, or even out of a simple desire to punish those who’d dared to challenge the Group of Four’s control. No. He’d used the gnawing terror to hone the internal, factional tensions which always afflicted the Temple during the winter months to an even sharper, more dangerous edge. He’d wanted to force decisions, to drive even those who’d traditionally attempted to stand aloof from the vicarate’s internal political struggles to choose sides. To commit themselves. And he’d wanted them to do it under circumstances
he
controlled. His own command of the Inquisition, and Allayn Maigwair’s command of the Temple Guard, gave the Group of Four an absolute monopoly on force within the Temple and Zion, and the winter had trapped all of Mother Church’s highest hierarchy right here. There was, quite literally, no countervailing force, which meant everyone knew Clyntahn was in a position to bring the full, sledgehammer repressive power of his office down on anyone who marked himself out as the Group of Four’s enemy.

In the face of that sort of threat, it was scarcely surprising that even many who nursed serious doubts as to the Group of Four’s handling of the crisis had found themselves looking for ways to prove their loyalty. To curry favor like a frightened dog, licking the hand which threatened to beat it in the hope of buying some sort of mercy. Or, at least, of securing short- term survival. Because even the dimmest dullard had to recognize that without
short- term
survival, there could be no
long- term
survival.

No doubt it did amuse Clyntahn to use enemies and rivals to serve his own political ends. In fact, Rayno never doubted it did, and he supposed the streak of cruelty, even sadism, that demonstrated was a serious flaw. Yet he’d come to the conclusion long ago that all men had flaws, and that the greater the man, the greater the flaw tended to be. And the fact that Clyntahn
enjoyed
making his enemies suffer made his strategy no less effective. Besides, it wasn’t as if any other strategy had ever truly been possible, for there could be no rapprochement between Samyl Wylsynn and Zhaspahr Clyntahn. It simply couldn’t happen—if for no other reason, because Clyntahn would expect other potential adversaries to see it as an act of weakness on his own part. As an accommodation he’d sought because he doubted the strength of his iron fist. It was essential he prove he entertained no such doubt . . . and that he would not tolerate that doubt’s existence in any other vicar’s mind.

To do that, he must
use
that strength. He
had
to crush his enemies, openly and utterly, and so he would. He might delay the moment, might stretch out the agonizing anticipation, in order to force others to offer him their submission, but the ultimate outcome had never been in doubt. It
could
never have been in doubt, lest it be seen as hesitation or timidity on his part.

Rayno understood that, and his own estimate was that Clyntahn had accomplished virtually all of his goals. Further delay would achieve very little in terms of the internal dynamic of the members of the vicarate likely to survive the coming purge. Which meant that, at this point, Clyntahn was holding his hand for purely personal reasons. Having achieved his political objectives in all their essentials, he was treating himself to the predatory satisfaction of watching his doomed foes suffering all the anguish of anticipation.

And if anyone else realizes that’s what he’s doing, it will only make them even more terrified of crossing him in the future
.
So even now, he’s still killing two wyverns with a single stone, as it were
.

The only flaw in the Grand Inquisitor’s satisfaction was the possibility that some of his enemies’ families might escape him after all, but neither he nor Rayno were concerned by the possibility that anyone who hadn’t already disappeared might do the same. Rayno still hadn’t figured out how the missing family members—and especially the Wylsynns—had managed to vanish so thoroughly, although he’d come to suspect there was an additional player in the game. One Stantyn didn’t know about and so had been unable to betray. There was a sense of... craftsmanship to the families’ disappearances which reminded Rayno strongly of the disappearance of Archbishop Erayk Dynnys’ family. He still hadn’t been able to figure out how
that
had happened, either, but he’d developed a grudging respect for whoever had managed to get them out of the Temple Lands and into Charis without leaving a single footprint behind. The adjutant general would cheerfully officiate over the fellow’s execution, whoever he might be, but he did respect the quality of his opponent.

However good that opponent might be, however, none of the other families were going to disappear. All of them were under constant surveillance, and he’d handpicked the Inquisitors responsible for keeping them that way. Of course, he’d done that in the Wylsynns’ case, as well, but this time he’d assigned double teams to each family, and it struck him as extraordinaily unlikely that he could have
that
many traitors (if that was truly what had happened in the Wylsynns’ case) in his own ranks. No, the
other
families weren’t going anywhere without his knowledge. In fact, he rather wished some of them would make the attempt. If they did, they might yet lead his Inquisitors to the others, and he’d become privately convinced that that was the only way he was going to find those others at this point.

Not that he had any intention of giving up the hunt. And meantime . . . “Have you given any more thought to exactly when you wish to have them arrested, Your Grace?” he asked after a moment.

“I think we can give them another five- day or so, don’t you, Wyllym?” The adjutant general’s question seemed to have restored the Grand Inquisitor’s humor, and he smiled jovially. “There’s no need to cut the others’ time with their families short, now is there?”

“I suppose not, Your Grace.” Rayno returned his superior’s smile with rather more restraint.

Unlike Clyntahn, Rayno would take no personal satisfaction from the Grand Inquisitor’s enemies’ destruction. Nor was he particularly looking forward to having the members of their families put to the Question in front of them. It was, he acknowledged, one of the most effective of the Schuelerites’ techniques for extracting information, and their inability to apply it to the family members who had escaped probably helped explain at least some of Clyntahn’s frustration. For himself, however, Rayno would be just as happy to avoid as much of that sort of thing as he could. It was unlikely to be necessary, in any case. They had plenty of evidence already, they could count upon the accused to confess in the end (the accused always
did
confess in the end, didn’t they?), and aside from a few junior bishops and archbishops who’d managed to get out of the city before winter closed in, they could put their hands upon the guilty parties anytime they chose.